


The Black Recluse

by d00biusc0nsent



Series: Second Hand Discipline [1]
Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: Bathing/Washing, Bondage, Cum Eating, D/s, Dominant Kylo Ren, F/F, F/M, Face Slapping, Innocence, Kidnapping, Loss of Virginity, Mild Blood, Multi, Rape/Non-con Elements, Submissive You, Supreme Leader Kylo Ren, Switch me, Threesome - F/F/M, Virginity Kink
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-08
Updated: 2020-06-08
Packaged: 2021-03-04 07:28:27
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,709
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24599788
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/d00biusc0nsent/pseuds/d00biusc0nsent
Summary: You’re a naive preservationist, dead set on saving a ruined structure from being defiled by the First Order. The Black Recluse has come to collect your innocence for your Supreme Leader’s own defilement. I hope you weren’t saving yourself…[written as me/Kylo/you, the beginning to Second Hand Discipline]
Relationships: Kylo Ren/OC/you, Kylo Ren/Reader, Kylo Ren/You, Kylo Ren/me/you
Series: Second Hand Discipline [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1778251
Comments: 2
Kudos: 31





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> So I technically wrote this before Second Hand Discipline (one shot encounters that happen further down the road in their relationship when it's more stable), and this is the true beginning to the story. I never anticipated that other people would enjoy my partner and I's warped little threesome fantasy with Kylo! We plan on gradually connecting the two points in time, and as a wonderful writer, I hope she shares her own work in our AU as well. 
> 
> ! NO KYLO UNTIL PART 3 !
> 
> Anyway, me (the Black Recluse) and the reader have a rocky start since we're noncon sluts..

I stride down the ramp of my ship, laser-focused on the data scrolling inside my helmet, feeding information on this world around me. I can already hear the screaming, even among all this foliage to muffle it. Luckily, no gunfire. All eyes seem to be on me as I approach the company, and all actions queued behind my authority. 

Going towards the monolith, certainly at my own pace, I measure the troopers before me, the officers, staining their white and grey like a falling trail of midnight ink. Pulling at one fingertip at a time, I slip off a glove, raking my hand through the warm wind as it threatens to blow my hood from my head. I can smell the approaching storm through my mask, that electrified scent of anticipation. Then, a raindrop hits my palm. Bitterness wells up in me. I snuff it out in my fist. 

Before me is an interesting sight; a literal chain of students and do-gooders surround this monolith I’d been told about, fixed to it and themselves by metal links. I wish they could all see the amusement on my face, which would no doubt be more horrifying to behold than even the appearance I’d chosen for my mask—bejeweled in eight, vacant eyes and painted in a hypnotizing, swirling pattern. 

“This is truly the warmest welcome I’ve ever received,” I greet the chain, sizing them all up, moving from person to person. A voice within a voice echoes from my vocoder, deep and present, but mirrored by one more distant and feminine, inviting, and as if underwater. I fill my lungs slowly, deeply, processing the experience in my own senses and through the stream of data in my helmet. “My prey rarely catches itself for me, which does take away part of my fun. On behalf of the sovereignty of the First Order, and our Supreme Leader Kylo Ren, is there one of you I should punish for this stunt first?”

The stench of fear is rampant, though no one wreaks of it quite like you. My pace slows to a crawl as I go by you, quivering against the ancient stone, refusing to look at me and yet clearly knowing you’re under my lens. Behind layers of dirty, though expensive, clothing, I can see you holding the boy’s hand next to you. Unlike you, he’s staring straight at me. 

“You?”

“We’re sick of the First Order taking every piece of history for themselves,” he blurts out.

Oh, here we go… “You think I’m here to arrest you. Why shouldn’t we?” I cock my head in mock interest. 

“You don’t have the right!”

“And you do? The Republic does?” I close the gap between him and me, letting him feel the air seeping through my filter. “My Master is more capable of putting this to use than anyone. When he finds something he can use, he does so, and utterly. But I’m not here for this musty old rock. I’m here for something else.” I trace my bare finger along his jawline, following the clean path left by a drop of rain. I back off. 

“Sniveling girl, what do you know in that pretty head of yours?” 

“Nothing, Sir. Ma’am,” you squeak, eyes fixated on the crimson buckles of my boots. 

“Then what good are you to me?” Met with silence, I take a moment to let you bask in the horror of my shadow and conjure an answer. 

“She’s only here because I talked her into coming, leave her alone,” the self-important boy seems to think he should speak for you, pulling against the chains that he likely put on himself, and you. 

“So you’re saying she’s of no use to me. That’s a dangerous suggestion,” I trail off, getting closer to you, “though I’m not so sure of that just yet.” 

Pushing aside my webbed, zeyd cloak, I reveal a dagger strapped to my thigh. All eyes are on me, except yours, as I activate its sickly green edge with the flick of a switch. Ignoring his loud protests for now, I lean into you, lifting your skirt with the pommel, kissing your thigh with its vibrations. You watch it, breath stolen and jaw slack. With my other hand, I push your clothing to the side, revealing your panties to the whole company, sheer and clinging. I slip a gloved finger under the band, pulling it away to reveal the curls beneath. Tears are spilling from your eyes in stunned silence; all you do is flinch when I cut the band and pull your underwear from you, connected only by a thin line of your thrill until that breaks, sticking to your lips. 

Balling them up, I shove them into the boy’s mouth, choking him with the pressure, then shushing him with an index finger over my mouth. I take that finger and slide it between your lips, sighing into the inviting plush of you. The faintest sound of surprised pleasure escapes you when I circle your clit before easing into you a bit further. 

Resistance—so tempting to force my way right through you.

Cooing at you, I rub your unbroken quim approvingly, gathering your slick on my finger. With my other hand, I remove the lower half of my mask, revealing lips the color of matted poison. You won’t look at my façade of eyes, but my, you’re trained on my wicked smile. I make a show of licking your arousal from my fingers, and I wonder if the boy beside you knows I’m making eye contact with him. 

Cupping your face, I kiss you. You don’t protest, only mewl, softening against me as you realize I’m not there to hurt you, at least not yet. My tongue runs along the inside of your lips, working between your teeth to stroke yours. You fumble to return the sentiment, and I grin into your inexperience, enveloping your lips with mine, wrestling with your eager, little muscle until it learns to relax and react. Even without my mask, the petrichor of your cunt, of the ground—is inebriating to inhale. 

I pull away and take you with me, cutting your chains with my vibroblade and using them to lead you. I’m delighted to watch you struggle, pulling with all of your might against me. I let go, and you crumble in a pathetic heap at my feet, scurrying away. I catch you by the ankle, dragging you through the moss and leaves, and oh how your scream pierces the now deafening sound of rainfall when I switch the vibroblade back on. 

“Ssshhh,” I purr at you with my naked voice, slicing through your good girl outfit with the dagger’s ghastly edge, “I have to teach you your place, pet, we may as well start now.” 

You slip away from me long enough to get back up on your feet, but I snag you before you can get far, seams ripping and buttons popping. On your knees, you pant, fighting against my grip on your wrists. Again, I let go, and you tumble face-first into the muck. With my boot by your face, I cuff you. Looking down at the fear in your eyes, I shush at you some more, stroking your exposed backside and pulling away what sopping bits of fabric are left draping your body. 

“Will you be a good girl for me?” I inquire, and this question makes you sob harder. Words elude you, but you emphatically nod to show your enthusiasm. Dagger still buzzing, I press the hilt just so against your pussy lips. You make the sweetest noise I’ve ever heard, your toes curling behind you. “Yes, that’s it, that’s a good girl.” 

Replacing my mask, I turn to face the military presence behind me, who had been watching this display with feigned disinterest. I half drag your naked body behind me, ignoring the pleas and the cries. 

“Just taking one prisoner today, Sir?”

I nod. 


	2. Chapter 2

You mistakenly greet my many eyes with your own as your chamber door hisses open; your face is hidden inside of your arms soon enough, but it doesn’t halt our reunion, unfortunately for you. My heels clack against the industrial flooring as I approach you, trembling in the far corner, cocooned by your own limbs like the little bug that you are.

I squat down, listening to your breaths begin to draw in quick bursts. Unhinging the lower portions of my mask, I wet my lips and say, “Not many girls crawl their way into my web on purpose, you know. You had to guess this would happen to you, in some capacity.”

You only continue to cower, though I pull a whimper from you as I caress your bare arm with a finger. I bring goosebumps as I trail further, adding more leather-clad fingers to the stroke as I go. The panicked breathing stills as I slither my hand under your jaw and jerk your face up and towards mine. A wet frown catches my attention first, and I smile oh so wide. 

“There she is,” I whisper at you, pinning that sniveling lower lip down to your chin. I can’t help but laugh at how stupid you look. You try to pull away, but I correct the error by putting my weight onto you, your skull trapped in the sharp angle of the corner. 

“These tears you’re showing me,” I tease, “have to be tears of thanks, am I right, little girl?” You shake your head, unexpected defiance I must admit, and I give you a demonstrative slap across the cheek, pitiless. I let the stars stop swimming before I continue. “Surely you must be thankful. You chained yourself to that ruin just for me to find you, didn’t you? Your cunt was sopping when I hiked up your skirt, wasn’t it? Thank me.”

Even if you want to oblige, I’m making it difficult. My fingers are in your mouth, my thumb petting your cheek as I press too hard on your tongue. 

“Well, say it,” I urge you and then laugh at your attempt to dictate the words. The frown deepens around my digits, and I start to fuck it a bit with my fingers as you cry. I push in deeper, tickling at your uvula, and then your throat, lips smashed into my knuckles. “Promise you’ll say it like a good girl?”

You nod this time, tears spilling as you struggle against your reflex. I hold you there, and hold you there, and hold you there, and then withdraw, embellishing your front with ropes of spit. “Thank you,” you choke, halfheartedly. 

I give you another slap, more playful this time, though I smear your excretions across your face as I do it. “Say, ‘thank you, Ma’am’,” I continue, voice dark and low. “Look at me while you say it.”

Those big, mortified eyes look up at me, one half-closed from spit, glassy and confused, though I can see your thoughts running at lightspeed behind the stare, processing this horrible beauty before you. 

“Thank you, Ma’am, for whatever lesson you’re here to teach me.” 

It's the smartest thing you’ve said since I took you. I play with your mouth some more while I think. “That’s a good pet,” I praise. “You won’t be getting your hardest lessons from me, but yes, you’ll learn a lot from me too. Would you like that?” 

Conflict flashes in your face like neon and your terror is so inviting as you say, “Yes.” You pause. “Ma’am,” you finish, already bracing for pain from not being fast enough. I just pet you sweetly and savor how quickly you learned.

“You’re a filthy thing, aren’t you?” I comment, curling my nose at the dirt and sweat still clinging to your body from your little stunt planetside. 

“Yes, Ma’am,” you reply. “I’m sorry.”

“You’ll be pleased to know that I’m primarily here to clean you up. Make you suitable. When was the last time you had a proper bath?”

Your expression tells me it’s been some time, that you’ve been rolling around in the mud with your fellow preservationists for weeks now, thinking you could stop the First Order from taking anything, everything, and doing with it as they please. 

“Follow me.” I don’t help you to your feet, though you manage to stand, covering choice parts of your body as you do so. I smack your hands away from covering your breasts and watch you struggle not to put them in the exact same spot. “First,” I mumble, taking the cuffs from my belt. None too gently, I pull your wrists towards the small of your back, locking them there with a ‘click’. I return to your front side, blatantly drinking it in with nothing obstructing my view. 

“Has no one ever treated you like a whore, little girl?” I inquire, already knowing. 

Head hanging low from the humiliation, you sob, and your tits sway just so for me while you do it. “No, Ma’am,” you squeak, crying harder. 

I let you and then gesture with my fingers for you to follow. 

~*~*~*~*~

A few locked doors later, a refresher is revealed to you. You watch me remove my gloves and ready your bath with a couple button presses. A bit of life sparks in your face at the promise of comfort and the feeling of a rug beneath you.

I steady you as you step in, expecting you to be grateful for the treatment, but no, it’s just too hard for you to be a good girl since no one’s broken you yet. You wait for me to lean down, an uneven posture, before thrashing into me as one last gesture of defiance against this reality. Glass decanters shatter in our struggle, their contents slowly oozing towards the drain in the center of the room and saturating the room in saccharine pungency. 

The back of my helmet cracks the tile; the latches pop and burst, and the façade slips to the floor, my hair spilling out. It clings to the patches of bathwater on your skin, tracing your hills and valleys, tangled around your limbs. I pant in your ear, crushing you against me with a locked arm. My knuckles dig into your scalp, holding the back of your head against my shoulder so that your eyes point skyward. Your gasp when you notice the mirrored ceiling makes me ache. 

Anger ebbing, I take a deep breath, and say, “You know this is pointless. You’re on a ship—the ship. Handcuffed. Naked. A truly disgusting, scared little girl, that no one here gives a fuck about.” I run the tip of my tongue along the shell of your ear. “And if you’re trying to get under my skin, go ahead and be a brat. Enjoy that fire you still have in your eyes before Master smothers it.” 

My grip on you slackens as I lean back to watch you watch yourself, those wide eyes meeting mine for the first time, and I use a free hand to pluck at your left nipple. “Does that feel good when I do this?” You nod. “I promise he’ll make you feel good too. You’ll be lying awake at night, touching yourself and wishing so hard he’d pay your cunt a visit.” I pinch down harder than before, tugging at your little bud of nerves. You cry out. I stuff your mouth full with my fingers and gag you with them. “Sshh, I know, little bug. Fuck, you’re sensitive. The noises you’re going to make for Master—I can’t wait to hear them when I introduce you. Are you excited to be his?” Your whole torso spasms into your sobs, muffled and slobbery around my knuckles. I shush at you and fuck some embarrassing noises from your mouth, and you just cry harder. 

As I do so, I realize some looming misfortune. There’s a trail of blood pouring down your thigh: a slice from the shampoo decanter. So much for perfection. 

Into the bath you go. You do a piss poor job at keeping your head above water—I lean down and yank you by the hair, eventually, watching you suck down air. Do you catch my smirk in the mirror, I wonder, before I dunk you back down? There’s a bit of pushback from you, so I force you down, careful not to break your pretty face on the side of the tub. 

“Tell me, ‘I’m a dirty little slut, Ma’am’, and I’ll stop,” I bargain when I pull you back up. 

You chew at the words but never spit them out. I push you back under and laugh. When I bring you back up for air again, you manage to give me what I want, clumsily. Your shoulders nearly relax as you catch your breath, relieved, and the way you cry when you realize I lied to you—precious. 

This time, when I bring you back to sweet, cool air, you’re begging me ‘please’ between gasps, oh so desperate to say anything to get me to stop. I reward you with another pluck of your nipple, rolling it between my fingers. 

“Promise to be a good girl for me while I get your body ready?”

“Yes! Yes, Ma’am!” you give in without a thought. 

Relaxing my grip on you, I pour pitchers of water over your head, scouring your skin with a sponge and some surviving soap. “That’s it, little girl,” I praise, cupping that same breast I’d been tormenting in my hand, smoothing over it almost lovingly, “so compliant for me.” You barely protest when I slip the sponge between your legs, rubbing softly at your vulva until you mimic my rhythm, grinding your clit against its porous texture. “Tell me it feels good.”

“It feels good,” you choke, “so good. So-” Interrupting, my fingers replace the sponge, worrying at that ring of untouched, pulsing muscle. Your frown deepens; your brow furrows. It takes every ounce of my willpower not to pin you against the walls of the bath and rape my fingers into you with total abandon. 

“Does it feel warm and tight in your stomach when I tease your cunt like this?”

“Yes, Ma’am!” The way it rolls off of your tongue when I press your clit with my palm, so desperate and shocked—fuck. I have to stop or I’m going to get in even deeper trouble with my—with our—Master.

I check my timepiece, an archaic sort of glass contraption hanging off of my hip, sighing and dumping one last jug of water over you before pulling you up and into a towel. Shivering in my arms, I hold you for a fraction longer than I should, a long-dead pocket of empathy, of weakness, rupturing despite what I’ve been through. Your pressure against me stirs more than pity. I push you away, drying you in a display of sudden irritation. 

I remove a belt from a drawer that probably looks like incredibly uncomfortable underwear to you. You step into the accessory, like a good girl, and I help you, pulling it flush with your crotch and buckling in several places, tucking the keys into one of my many pockets. I add my own embellishment for good measure.

A tiny sound stirs in your throat when I go to blindfold you. “This will help,” I assure. You don’t fight me over this, but you panic when I leave and come back with a wheeled chair for you to sit in. We linger in silence as I strap you in, listening to your defeated mewling and the song of leather rubbing leather. 

As the last addition, I tell you to open that mouth for me, and I slide a gag between your teeth and strap it around your head. “Be a good, quiet toy for Master to play with.” I give you a pat on your head as I start to wheel you toward our destination, emotion racking through your shoulders and twisting the edges of your mouth around the gag. “As long as you’re obeying Master, it’s okay to cry—he loves that.”


	3. Chapter 3

Your knuckles are as white as the lighting in the hall, clutching onto the stability of the armrests. There’s not much else you can do to soothe yourself with your wrists strapped down. Your breaths get shorter with every door we pass, and so do mine. 

His presence is gravitational, even beyond his chamber door; that subtle tickle of it is in the back of your skull, pulling you inward. Is your heart fluttering, not knowing what that is, I wonder? 

Once inside, the hum of the electricity all but gone, all we hear are my boots on the onyx flooring, and the rapid breathing through your nostrils. I park you and kneel not far from your shackled feet. 

“A delight for you, my Master,” I offer you to the unseen aberration in your darkness. It makes me pulse to hear you whimper from my words around the gag.

There’s no response, though you can hear what sounds like velvet sliding on velvet, accompanied by heavy footfall down several stairs. He sweeps right by me to eclipse you in his shadow, studying you, judging you. 

And me. You don’t see the vitriolic stare he shoots before crouching down to have the perfect view of your sweetest assets. As he extends his tongue to your thigh, drawing a surprised noise from behind your gag when he drags it across your skin, he keeps his eyes on mine, licking up at the blood trail from our scuffle and until his lips press against your wound.

Can I hear the faintest whimpers from you that you’re trying to hide? Ah, yes, certainly—you can’t smother your reaction when he blows a warm breath at your pussy, bare and helpless against even his most gentle attention. Do you feel that you’re in the eye of your storm, little bug? You’re not even close, and a distant part of me wishes I could tell you—to inform or to taunt, I’m unsure. 

He leaves you and returns to me, pressing into his mouth’s bloody corner with his tongue, savoring you. I watch you in my peripheral, chest rising and falling as you grieve the unknown, though try as you might to be calm, you squeak at the impact that sends me straight to the stars. 

Consciousness flickers and burns behind my eyes, threatening a blackout; I stand, however, knees half buckled. That same, vicious hand cups my purpling face. 

“Did I not ask: ‘handle this one with care’?”

“You did, Master.”

“What else did I say to you?”

“You told me that for every scratch I allow on her body, I’ll make up for with my own, Sir.”

“That’s right. Hand me your dagger.” I didn’t realize I was shaking until I start to fumble for it, passing it from my sweaty palms into his. He makes a show of it, dancing it around his skilled hand, cold without its acid green edge. “Open your robes.” I obey and expose my inner thigh. He teases my unbroken flesh with my own weapon, eventually hooking it and dragging it slow and steady. It’s not too deep, but it’s enough to make me suck through my teeth. “ Ssshh ,” he coos as he finishes his singular stroke, a true sculptor of flesh as he mirrors your imperfection. 

You’re blurry as I try to focus, but I see you shaking your head in his direction as if that’s going to make him reconsider. Is that ‘please’ I hear you mumbling behind your gag? I’m dizzy from the adrenaline, and it’s hard to tell. With a curl of his fingers, he beckons me to follow, handing me a bundle of rope; and with another curl, the buckles on your legs slip free. Just as I see you try to enjoy it, this unseen pressure bends your legs up and apart, stretching you until you threaten us with a fit of tears. I go to work binding your legs in the place he’s put them.

I wonder which is worse, the fear of knowing you’re about to be ripped into, or this intimate introduction to a cosmic force wielded by this dark, hungry creature? As he towers over that squirming frame of yours, you realize it’s one fear to know your body is about to be mangled, but your soul? He’s already inside of your mind—I recognize that horror and euphoria painted all over your face. 

“Has my pet been rough with you, little girl?  Of course they have. They’ve been a difficult slut to train, always wanting more and more toys to play with and always so reckless with each and every one.” Master presses the flat of the blade against your pussy lips, and all of the color drains from you, tapping the cold metal against your clit. “But I don’t think they’ve ever brought me such a sweet thing like you. They asked for you, you know. Did they tell you?” 

As I regain my focus, I can see your cunt glinting each time he angles the blade just right, your hips rocking to meet the smooth friction. You’re so fucking wet—just as soaked as when I’d met you, chained to that rock like a dumb whore. He keeps giving me looks, and I wonder which parts of our time together he’s taking from your memory while you don’t even try to resist the intrusion. 

"That’s it, you want to give in to me, don’t you? All this whining is just a show. All of your memories, all of your feelings, all of your dumb slut opinions—they all belong to me now. Well? Nod and tell me, ‘yes, Sir’.”

He laughs at your attempt to mouth the words around your gag, but you’re all spit and embarrassment as you nod to compensate. With the flat of the dagger, he spanks against your clit just a bit harder. 

“Do you wish that was Master’s cock teasing your pussy?” I ask, lips brushing the edge of your ear. You shake your head ‘no’, and try to squirm away, but he just leaves a handprint on your thigh. 

“Remember, you can’t lie to me. I know you want to feel my cock inside you, filling you all the way, don’t you? Yes, nod for me, and mm, don’t be afraid to cry for it.” You jump when my weapon hits the floor, abandoned, metal replaced by leather-bound fingers, spreading your juice across your lips and your clit while you pant and moan into it. “See, you’re aching for it. Hm, I suppose you can’t see, can you?”

I take the hint and peel back your blindfold, offering encouragement. “Open your eyes like a good girl for your Supreme Leader. Don't you want to see what it looks like, the big cock that’s going to break in your cute little cunt?”

He’s having none of it. “Open your eyes. Look. And you,” he addresses me, “lift her a bit, then get on your knees and suck.”

You obey and drink him in with your eyes, a dark and cascading silhouette against the soft light emanating from behind a throne. His prick is only half hard as he unbuttons his pants, but it’s still enough to frighten you with its veiny weight. 

This is no punishment for me; my head is gone as I obey him, on my knees at his feet, starving for the cock that’s bobbing and weeping for that tight little cherry of yours. Of course, I’m admiring how wet and needy it looks as I take him in my lips, wanting a taste of your sex next. He knows the whole display is making me ache for it; he also knows that I don’t care what –it – even is, pushing my head down too far and making me gag. I can see your pussy clench through the tears, and I follow suit before he drags my face back over his cock. 

“This one? You’re sure?” he snarls, ripping my head away, spit splattering the ground by my knees. I nod and cough, bent over. 

“Yes,” I gasp, choking down phlegm and tears, “this one. Make her ours, Master, please.” I’m looking at you as I say it, leaning in to taste the seal of your unopened love letter to me, to us. 

The sensation seems to tickle, alien to you, but I can see you’re at least acquainted with your body, already bucking your slit against my tongue. I dare to slip it inside and I’m yanked back to his attention. He goes deeper, until I gag, before giving me another rest to tend to you. I look back at you with red, glazed eyes, saliva pouring from my abused lips onto your clit, and oh fuck, the way it pulses from the faint pressure. I suck it into my mouth, and you give me a genuine, guttural moan. There’s no time to enjoy you; he’s  face fucking me again, and as stiff as a sword. My own cunt clenches in anticipation while I stroke his slick length, admiring it, and teasing your hole with the palm of my hand, admiring you. He allows me to lead the bulb of it against your entrance, and he gives me the faintest stroke along my neck, my shoulders, as if in approval. 

“Alright, move,” he orders me, and I scramble out of the way. “Be sure she watches this. It’s a big moment in a girl’s life, after all. And if she talks back,” his eyes pierce yours, so misty already, “gag her so I can enjoy this cunt you’ve brought me.”

He tears into you, slowly, unceremonious, observing the shock and pain on your face as he does it. Oh fuck, it shouldn’t thrill me, but it does, watching him rip through your seam. 

“You’re doing so good,” I coo into your ear, lining it with my tongue tip. “ Ssshhh .” He pulls the head of it back out, and then plunges back inside, to your g spot. I hold my hand over your mouth as we all stare. “Relax, little girl,” I assure you. To your credit, you do try, though Master takes advantage, sliding in as far as he can shove his impatient cock. He hits a nerve, and oh you cry. His rhythm picks up as his brow furrows and his grip on your legs turns sharp. 

“ Fuuuck , your cunt is so tight,” he groans, barely able to pull out of you, though I see the fresh stain of crimson as he finally manages, and just how tense his balls are, tucked up against his body. He  could already spill. “And it belongs to me. Say it.”

You can’t. 

His massive hand impacting your jaw disagrees. 

But you still can’t. You only dissolve into tears, saying ‘please’ over and over. 

“Please? What, little whore?” He pounds into you just as hard as he’d fuck me, and I  wince , even as I pet my own clit at the spectacle of your body being ruined by this gorgeous monster. He strikes you again, and I can practically see the same stars from the sound of it, echoing in the chamber. 

“Please,” you sob, “yours! I’m yours!”

“That’s right,” I talk to you, shushing you, catching your tears with my sleeve, “you’re his. And mine,” I add, unafraid of him hearing while he’s lost in that perfect pussy of his, of ours. “Anytime Master isn’t filling you with cum, you’re all mine to play with, little pet. Mm, watch him pump you full like a good girl.” You obey me. 

On cue, he empties, holding you hostage for several more thrusts, pulsing in your heat as he pants. It doesn’t escape my notice that your clit is throbbing every bit as profoundly as mine from this display. I kiss your neck and leave you, returning to my spot between you on my knees. 

“You’re always the hungriest pet, that’s for sure,” he comments to me, knowing just what I’m expecting. He pulls his softening dick from you, and I rush to replace it with my tongue, catching the spurt of his hot cum and your flowing juices in my mouth and sucking the nectar down. You recoil and squeak when I lap a stray rivulet from your exposed asshole, and it makes me smile, thinking of drawing that noise from you again later. 

With the flick of his fingers, your buckles come undone. I help you out of the contraption and guide your gelatinous, strained muscles to the floor with me. 

“Clean me. Both of you be good and show me how well you can share.”

I take one look at you, little space cadet, your mind strung across some  far-off stars to escape this. Or was it just what you  needed, I wonder? With your jaw cupped in my hand, and his dripping cock in the other, I lean in. “Say thank you to your new Master, little slut.”

“Thank you, Master,” you, or the shell of you, replies. 

“That’s my good girl. Now, open your mouth, and clean away your messy cunt like a good girl should.” I play with your lips, and your swollen cheek, and admire the cum still leaking down your spread, pretty thighs. You do it without question, even moaning as you swallow the remnants or when my tongue bumps into yours. You surprise me, drawing me into a kiss as we slip off of the bulb of his cock, and I can’t help but melt into it, your coppery tang making my heart race. 

Fuck, I want you for myself.  “Master, may I--” 

“She’s all yours for the evening. But remember. You have a month.” He’s already buttoning his trousers and forgetting about cleanup-- physical, material, emotional, or otherwise.

“I won’t fail you with this one, Sir. You have my word.” 

“Which wasn’t good enough before. Don’t forget. Prove it to me.”

“Yes, Sir,” I answer, refusing to let him deflate me. “Come, little girl. Let me show you where you’ll be staying. Since you will be.” 


End file.
